I have always believed that the earth
leaves me messages,
But I've lately assumed that the
massage is over
As soon as I've heard enough to write a
poem.
Perhaps this is a bit simplistic.
My translation of these messages is
kindly “inconsistent.”
To translate, I'm a poet who hasn't
found his niche yet,
and I'm vomiting “blah blah blah”
Over the entire genre.
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